


Once upon a Windy Day

by Coup Detat (MysteriousHarmony)



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 22:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5887726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriousHarmony/pseuds/Coup%20Detat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikhail has been mourning Feilong's death for a long time, stuck with only the wind as a companion</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once upon a Windy Day

The sky was painted in sickly shades of grey and green, the sky’s illness incurring animosity from it’s brother, the wind. 

The wind tore across the ground, howling fiercely as it moved through the empty streets with the rage and speed of a lion chasing down it’s prey. 

It picked up any object in it’s path, throwing it up into the air to be blown at nearby poles, buildings and even the occasional passer by.

Small animals scurried around in search of food before the wind could cruelly steal it from their tiny grips like it so often did. 

The small animals were soon replaced by humans, walking huddled together in their large winter jackets, attempting to fend off the aggressive attacks of the wind.

The quickly increasing number of people only aggravated the wind further and it began to blow harder and faster in the faces of those moving through the streets causing them to pull up their hoods or pull down their sleeves in an attempt to find refuge from the piercing cold that assaulted their delicate skin. 

The wind began it’s assault on the inanimate objects of the streets yet again, picking up pieces of discarded paper and empty soda cans, deliberately throwing them at the hordes of huddled up people.

One man stood outside of the giant huddles of winter jackets and umbrellas, leaning against the corner of an abandoned, ramshackle, McDonalds building in nothing but a pair of jeans and a leather jacket, an outfit that made most passer by’s shiver for him, despite the fact that he didn’t feel cold. 

No, he was too empty to feel cold. His body was neither hot, nor cold, it was merely numb. 

His body was nothing more than a shell, it didn’t feel sensations of any sort, the only place where he felt anything was inside. 

While he felt numb on the outside his heart and soul were both searing and freezing at the same time.

His eyes carded through the masses of people, in search of one person in particular however the wind, being as intrusive as it was, decided to hinder him more than anyone, blowing things at the blonde haired man and causing his rambunctious hair to fall into his eyes despite the copious amount of gel he had put in it a mere hour earlier. 

He stood there for hours watching people go by and watching as the wind subsided, soon being replaced by the crackling of thunder in the distance. 

Though he could see the light of the day changing he held no knowledge of how much time had gone by- he never did.

This was a routine that repeated day after day after day, the waiting, the searching… the longing. 

He was longing for something far beyond his reach- far beyond the reach of any man. 

The lightning moved through the sky with both grace and terror trailing behind as thunder and wind set a lovely, yet deadly, rhythm for the dance. 

Many times the man had watched that lovely dance, uninterested, as he stood at the corner of the building awaiting something that would never happen, awaiting a face that he would never see within that crowd of huddled people. 

How long had he been watching, waiting, HOPING for something- for anything?

He honestly had no clue. 

How long had it been since that day? That day where his only remaining companion had been the wind. 

How long had it been since that gun shot had rung out, splitting him open inside, the same way it had split open that lovely man’s head.

How long had it been since the day that he had watched as that lovely corpse was lowered into the ground, the surroundings desolate and empty, no one caring to come to the funeral for someone so… insignificant- someone they didn’t even know. 

That was the flaw in everything in the end. 

No one knew him. No one took the time to know him. 

Except him, except the man in the leather jacket. 

They thought nothing of the lonely boy with the amethyst eyes, to them he was an insignificant detail that dotted the background of their lives, but why was it so? 

Why did someone so lovely die such a terrible, ugly, death?

Death.

He cringed at the very thought of the word and his heart felt as if it skipped ten beats within his chest. 

The thunder roared loudly, as if attempting to get his attention, as if attempting to wake him from the trance- free him from the rut. 

Yet alas it never worked. 

No matter how many times they tried, that dance never managed to snap him out of his thoughts. 

Though there were many easy things to get lost in the human mind was the easiest of them all. 

Full of barren hallways and memories that all looked like different versions of the same thing. 

The human mind was as terrifying as it was comforting, full to the brink with every imaginable emotion. 

The blonde man was more terrified of his mind than anyone else’s, he would much rather be in the mind of a mass murderer than within his own mind. 

His mind was scary. 

It held happy memories that only contributed to the accumulation of regrets that one fostered within their life. 

That accumulation of yesterdays caused people such as him great pain. 

He had spent much time contemplating everything while he waited. 

He had replayed that final day of happiness within his head too many times to count. 

He was always thinking ‘I should have done more’, ‘I should have tried harder’, ‘I should have never let him go’.

These thoughts only served to deepen the pain, not lessen it. 

In the end what good did such thoughts do?

If only words and thought could bring one back to life. 

If only every spirit was a book because then at least they could be revived and no matter how old they got they would always still survive. 

If only people could survive the same as words. 

Other than the wind that seemed to be the only thing left- words. 

Though at such a point they no longer felt like words, they no longer felt like real things- they no longer held meaning.

The more time went by the more they felt like mere alien creations that he had yet to understand. 

He had remembered his love for books when he was a child but looking back he could not recall how he had loved such a thing, something that now felt like nothing more than a mangled corpse that sat atop each dead page. 

After all those books were all dead. 

Dead emotionally, dead mentally, dead physically. 

They incited a cacophony of painful recollections within his brain whenever he attempted to read the books he had once held so dear. 

And as time slipped by, as if through a never ending hour glass he found himself growing to loath those same once beloved books. 

His crystal eyes flew open when a familiar face passed through the now empty streets that had been vacated as quickly as they had been filled when nightfall had begun to creep up upon them all. 

He watched as the figure passed and his heart pounded against his ribs, as in moments that seemed to span on for years he ran after the person and grabbed them by the shoulder, the person letting out a sharp gasp as they turned to face him. 

He opened his mouth to say that name but no words came out when that girl looked up at him. 

Not him. 

Never him. 

In the end, he was gone. 

He released her shoulder then turned and trudged his way through the water filled streets, returning to his spot on the corner of the ramshackle McDonalds building that had lain empty for years the same as he.

Thus he retreated back into his shell and again became lost in the dark corridors of his mind. 

The wind watched from a far and it’s rage returned as it tried harder to break him from his routine- from his rut. 

Yet alas, it was destined to never succeed.


End file.
